The Perils of Consumption
by eostby
Summary: The nights you can no longer remember often precede mornings you'd rather forget. For the "Second Competition That Must Not Be Named." Last edit August 28th, 2015.


**A/N: This story is, in spirit, a companion piece to "A Story About a Girl", but ends up in a completely different place, and has a completely different main character. The major similarity is that they were written for the same competition, which is why they have a similar structure to them. As always, JK owns the Potterverse, I just play in the sandbox she's given us.**

She woke up, feeling rather groggy. Was this supposed to happen? It wasn't listed as one of the side effects of the potion, but you could never be sure if you didn't have a Potion Master making them for you. And that was no longer an option, unfortunately.

She sat up, observing her surroundings. Well, she wasn't at Kings Cross, so that ruled out being dead. Most likely. Or perhaps it didn't mean anything, and she was reading too much into it. Better to assume nothing before one could be sure of anything, after all. It also definitely wasn't her bedroom, so this likely wasn't a dream. A pinch of her arm confirmed that an odd, waking dream could be safely ruled out, and this was likely reality she was experiencing.

She left the bed (odd to have been in a bed, but not be in a bedroom, she thought) and walked around the room. Slight details in the room seemed familiar to her, but the room as a whole was certainly unfamiliar, so she ruled out being at home as a likely circumstance. A quick stop in front of a mirror revealed that she was still wearing the same clothes she last remembered having on, so as far as she could tell, she must have come to this room by herself. No longer worrying about her virtue, she stretched and shook, trying to force her brain and body further into full consciousness and readiness.

She turned the doorknob on the room's only exit, and found the door unlocked. Stepping out into a long hallway, she saw a few paintings, many doors, but no clues that told her where she might be exactly. Seeing no obvious sign that pointed her in a direction, she started shuffling off to the left, figuring this way was as good as any. She passed by a large number of doors (unusually, she chose not to keep count, as her brain was often wont to do) before finally finding a window to the outside world. The sun was high in the sky, and the land outside again seemed vaguely familiar, but it could have been just about anywhere in the world. The only place she was certain she could rule out was Antarctica, which wasn't a difficult proposition, as she couldn't imagine having found herself there in the first place. However, the view did confirm that she was on an upper floor and, having not found a staircase to the left, would now have to head back right.

Grumbling about asymmetric architecture, she returned to the door she had opened, and passed it by, seeking a way down from her still unknown perch. As she expected, a staircase down was not difficult to locate, and would have in fact been very visible had she been a bit more awake when she set out originally. As she carefully stepped down the staircase, she began to smell many unique smells all at once. She was able to pick out the aromas of freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and the most heavenly of delights, fresh bread. Quickening her pace slightly (but not so much that she would trip), she moved towards the smells, not caring that it could have all been a trap, but one hundred and ten percent focused on eating the food she smelled, as ravenous hunger suddenly made itself known to her.

She found what she was sure was the main floor, and made haste towards what she was beginning to recognize as where the kitchen would be. She stood at the doorway, saw a wonderful spread already laid out on the table, and almost leaped into a place obviously set for her, a cup of coffee already prepared and sitting behind a full plate of bacon, toast, and cinnamon French toast. She began shoving food into her mouth at a rapid pace, finally answering the noisy complaints of her stomach. A green-eyed man sat across from her at the table, chuckling lightly as he constantly refilled her cup and plate. Once she felt sated, she leaned back in her chair and looked up at her companion.

"You were right, Harry," said Hermione Granger somberly, "the Hangover Reducer is a very difficult potion, and one that I still have trouble getting just right, but the next time you make one for me, could you please try and look a little less smug about it the day after?"


End file.
